After Dark
by Lif61
Summary: After leaving the Darklands, Jim tries to pull himself together.


Jim didn't count the seconds in which he hugged his mother, but he never wanted to let go of her. No amount of time felt like enough. He'd been without her for weeks, in the Darklands, had almost _died_, never able to see her again.

But that wasn't the thought that devastated him the most. It was the thought that she'd never see him again, that she'd be standing by the door, waiting to hear his footsteps, to see his black hair through the window, to hear him open the door, to smile at him, and welcome him with tears and open arms.

She'd almost been left standing there, alone, with nothing and no one.

Not his father, not Strickler, not him. No one.

So Jim hugged her as much he could, right up until it would start getting weird.

"Jim, honey, are you okay?" she asked, clearly not understanding the gravity of the situation.

How could she? His friends had told him what they'd done to keep her from knowing, to keep his secret safe.

She didn't know.

"Yeah, Mom," he answered. "I'm good. I'm doing good."

He pulled back and smiled at her. She wiped his tear away that had fallen, but didn't say anything of it.

"I'll get dinner ready. I'm sure you could do better, but-"

Jim was on his way up the stairs as she spoke, but paused to tell her. "I'm sure it'll be good."

Jim had already taken a shower at Toby's, not wanting to go back to his mom after not having washed himself for three weeks, but oh, how he needed another shower. He needed his own bathroom, his own house, his own _life_.

As he made his way to his room, he ran his hands all over the rails, all over the walls, unable to believe he was _home_, back in Arcadia, with his friends, with his mom. He was on Earth, and he'd missed it. He'd missed it that just being there made his chest ache, like he couldn't get enough of it, like he'd never be able to soak up enough of his own life, like the Darklands were still trying to take from him.

The sun was going down, but it was not the dark of the other place he'd been in. That dark had been unforgivable, merciless, empty, whereas night was filled with midnight blues, and stars, and the moon, and wind that wasn't drenched in a ghastly scent.

Jim got his clothes to put on after the shower and then went to the bathroom. He hadn't shown his mother, but it was hard to move, every part of him aching and bruised. Jim winced, unzipping his jacket, and then he pulled his t-shirt off. His stomach had dark purple bruises on it that looked almost black in the center, like they were radiating out from a damaged soul. It swelled up to his chest, down his abdomen, wrapped around his sides. He looked in the mirror at the ones on his back. His entire back was covered in purple, blue, and black, some of it almost looking like a shadow across his spine.

Even though he had yet to put some actual food in his stomach, Jim downed a few pain pills before taking his pants off and getting into the shower.

The water was cold at first, had him nearly crying out, but then it was warming up, and he was sighing into it, aching body glad for the heat. His legs didn't look any better. They were also covered in bruises, and some covered his shoulders as well. It was ugly, but he could hide it with his clothes. Really, Jim was lucky his face wasn't bruised.

He'd gotten so beat up he couldn't believe it.

Jim had never been so hurt in his life.

Now he took the time to cry about it, letting his tears flow, slower than the water, more gentle. Salty.

He _hurt_, and he almost hadn't made it. Even now, when he closed his eyes he saw the Darklands. So he stubbornly kept his eyes open, though his vision was blurred with tears. He saw the light, even if it was artificial and the light outside was fading more and more.

Darkness was falling and Jim felt an ache in his chest that wasn't from the beating.

He wanted to scream, to shout, to let it all out somehow.

But he didn't want to worry his mom. No, he couldn't worry her.

So all he did was cry. And cry. And cry.

He cried till his eyes were sore, till his diaphragm hurt, till his chest was aching, till his back was protesting, _No more, no more, no more!_

Jim finished his shower in solemn silence, night outside having fallen.

As he got out and was dressing there was a knock on the door.

His mom's voice: "Jim, dinner's ready!"

Jim spoke, and when he did he was glad his voice didn't crack, didn't betray his emotions, his inner battle, the battle he'd fought and would have to keep fighting, "I'll be down in a second!"


End file.
